May Day Murder

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “So, this banishing spell,” I said, pointing at the paper. “You don’t think it’s about you?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Nah, it wasn’t like that. She kicked me out of her house, but not out of her life. Two days after we broke up, she called me and asked me to come over. She wanted my help installing a motion light.”

  “Hmm. I wonder when she wrote this.” I rubbed the paper between my thumb and forefinger. “It doesn’t seem very dusty or dirty.”

  Erik stared out the window at the rising moon. Suddenly, he gasped. “Of course!”

  “What? You know who Denise wanted to banish?”

  “No. But I know how we can find out.”

  “How?”

  “We can ask Denise.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I stood at the west-facing window of the lookout tower and gazed out over the dark forest below. Clouds had moved in, blocking the moon and stars. Every now and then a pinpoint of light flickered on and off, and I realized it must be headlights on a winding road in the distance. This sign of civilization might have been comforting for some, but not for me. I was alone in a deserted cabin sixty feet in the sky, with a man I barely knew. And he had just suggested we contact the spirit of his angry ex-lover.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  For the past several minutes, Erik had set about consecrating the space around the table, chanting in a language I guessed to be Gaelic or Welsh. This was his idea—and his loved one—so I let him take the lead.

  As I sat across from him at the table once more, I marveled at the setup he’d managed with so few supplies. With a piece of charcoal he’d picked up off the floor, he had drawn a large pentagram on the tabletop, augmented with a few rocks and twigs. He set the candle at the base of the five-pointed star and placed the notebook paper in the center. On top of the paper was something else he’d surprised me with: a gold ring with a large, round Tiger’s Eye. Erik had found it when he was searching his house for items that had belonged to Denise. He’d stuck it in his pocket, intending to show it to me at Billy’s place tonight.

  “I think you should wear it,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s too small for any of my fingers. I think we’ll have a better chance of connecting with her if you wear the ring.”

  I swallowed, but held out my right hand and allowed Erik to slide the band on my ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

  “This is weird,” I said. “I’m not sure if this is really a good idea.”

  “It’s fine. Trust me. We might not get a better chance.” He held out both hands, palms up. “Let’s do this.”

  I had to admit, this did seem like the perfect opportunity to summon Denise’s spirit. If we could actually learn something about her death, it would all be worth it. Still, as I reached for Erik’s hands, I hesitated.

  “What’s wrong? You’re not afraid, are you?”

  “No. It’s just . . .” I tried to smile. “Just so we’re clear, I’m in a happily committed relationship with my boyfriend. No mixed signals, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Alrighty, then.” I placed my hands in his. They were rough and warm. He squeezed gently, as he sat up tall and took a deep breath. Again using a language I didn’t understand, he murmured what sounded like an invocation. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be swept up in the moment.

  Máthair Earth

  Athair Am

  Cumhacht ársa

  Bí linn.

  Dhá cheann amháin

  Le Chéile

  Mar atá sa Dúlra.

  Erik paused, then spoke again, this time translating his words:

  Teacht anois, Cailín réalta

  Teacht anois, Denise

  Come now, Star girl

  Come now, Denise

  Téigh tríd an veil

  Labhair linn ó bhás

  Pass through the veil

  Speak to us from death.

  For my part, I tried to focus on the lighter side of Denise’s personality—her whimsical artistry and sense of humor. But I had trouble concentrating. Dark images kept invading my thoughts: dead birds, black clouds, poisonous plants. And then, unbidden, I saw Denise’s twisted body on the floor of her workroom.

  A chill coursed through my veins. I felt woozy, as Erik repeated the final lines of his incantation like a broken record: “Labhair linn ó bhás. Speak to us from death.”

  Suddenly, the table trembled beneath our hands. Was it my body that caused the shaking? Or Erik’s? The temperature in the cabin dropped, and I shivered from the cold. Paradoxically, my fingers burned beneath the touch of Denise’s ring. My dizziness intensified, so I opened my eyes. Erik appeared to be in a trance, his lips moving soundlessly. To steady my nerves, I focused on the candle. Wax dripped down the side and pooled on the table, as the flame danced and flickered.

  What are we doing? This didn’t feel right. The last time I’d summoned a spirit, it was done in a conscious, peaceful manner, within a loving, protective circle of women. This felt off. The energy in the air felt turbulent and angry—a white-hot, blinding anger.

  As I stared at the flame, I realized, too late, that it was drowning in the melted wax. The candle sputtered and went out, leaving us in the dark.

  The windows rattled, and I jumped. With the increasing clouds, the wind had picked up. In the back of my mind, I wondered if wind gusts were causing the tower to sway. That might explain my dizziness.

  A choking sound from Erik made me forget about the wind. He spoke in a strangled whisper. “No! Dee, no. Don’t. Dee!”

  I tried to pull my hands away. I wanted to turn on my flashlight and end this party. But Erik wouldn’t let me go. In fact, the more I struggled, the harder he gripped. His fingers squeezed mine until Denise’s ring cut into my finger. I screamed in pain.

  That broke the spell.

  With a gasp, Erik released me. I stood quickly, knocking my chair over, as I wrenched the ring from my finger and tossed it on the table. I brought my hand to my lips and tasted blood.

  I couldn’t see a thing, but I heard Erik push back from the table and make his way toward me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  He wrapped his arms around me in a hug, and we stood that way, enveloped in darkness, for what felt like a very long time.

  * * *

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Erik and I said very little as we descended the tower stairs and scrambled down the bluff. Once we reached the high school, I flicked off my flashlight to conserve the battery. The town was quiet and desolate. We didn’t pass a single person or vehicle on our way back to Billy’s house. When we reached my car, Erik stood by while I found my keys and unlocked the door. Then he mumbled something about calling me later and shuffled down the street.

  On the drive back to Edindale, I turned the radio up and let rock music fill my senses. I didn’t want to think. I was too confused. I would analyze the night’s events later, when I had more energy.

  At home, I let myself inside and headed for the stairs. My only thought was to crawl into bed and curl up under the safety of my blankets. But Wes came out of the kitchen and stopped me.

  “Hey, babe. I was about to call you. I just got home myself.”

  “Really? What time is it?” I tilted my face up to meet his kiss. He smelled like wine and a hint of perfume.

  “Eleven. Come and sit with me. I have a lot to tell you.”

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “I’m pretty tired, though.”

  He pulled me over to the sofa. “Another boring game night? Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “Actually . . .” I trailed off, trying to find words. I wasn’t going to lie to Wes, but I didn’t know where to begin. “Do we have whiskey?”

  He laughed. “I think so. I’ll go check.”

  “Just a smidge, please.”

  “Ice?”

  “No. I’m already too cold.”

  H
e returned with a tumbler of whiskey and grabbed a blanket from the recliner. As he draped the blanket over my legs, he peered at my face. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yeah. I am now. We, uh, didn’t end up playing the game. Instead, Erik and I . . . we had a sort of séance. It was kind of weird.”

  “You’re kidding. You tried to contact the dead woman?”

  I took a sip of the whiskey. It burned my throat and made my stomach feel warm. “You know what? I don’t feel like talking about it right now. How was the art opening?”

  He brightened and settled on the sofa beside me. “Really good. Not a lot of people came out, just a few of Poppy’s friends and a couple members of the town art council. Poppy was really grateful I came.”

  I’ll bet. I smirked but let him continue.

  “I had a nice long chat with the gallery owner. He wants to set up a showing of my work sometime this summer.”

  “Wes, that’s great!”

  “Yeah, it should be cool. I might get involved with the art council, too.”

  “That sounds exciting.” He looked so pleased and cute, I spontaneously leaned over to kiss him again. And again I caught a whiff of perfume, floral and slightly musky. I narrowed my eyes. “Did Poppy ask to photograph your tattoos?”

  “What?” He quirked his eyebrows, but then chuckled. “As a matter of fact, she did. I didn’t make her any promises, but I had to keep things friendly. You’re not worried, are you?”

  I made a face, then smiled. “No. I know how hard it is to resist your charms. And you were on a mission after all. Did you learn anything about Denise?”

  “I’m getting to that. So, after everybody else left, Poppy and I were still talking shop. Bruce, the gallery owner, lives above the place. He said to stay as long as we liked. So, we sat in the back room and finished off the wine and cheese.”

  “How romantic,” I said, with not a little sarcasm.

  “Oh, it was,” he teased. “Especially when I kept bringing up your name.”

  “Now, why’d you do that? That’s no way to loosen a girl’s tongue.”

  “You mean you wanted me to seduce her?” he asked, in mock seriousness.

  I swat his arm. “Go on.”

  “So, as we were having our perfectly platonic discussion of the photography business, we commiserated about how hard it is to make ends meet as an artist. I mentioned my side jobs—and also how much it helped reduce expenses when you and I moved in together.”

  “Smooth.”

  “I thought so. I asked how she managed, and I found out it’s a big sore spot for her.”

  “What? Money?”

  “Yeah. She said she got so desperate a couple months ago, she even asked her friend for a money spell.”

  “You mean Denise?”

  “Yep. That’s when I mentioned you again. I said you’re Wiccan, and I asked Poppy if she was, too. She’s not.”

  “She’s not a witch? She said that?”

  “In so many words. She said she’s open-minded and willing to try anything—”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” I interrupted.

  Wes put his fingers to my lips. “Hush. She said her best friend was a witch, so she knew all about it, but she’s not really a believer. Still, she could never understand how Denise was able to live so well. They came up together, with similar backgrounds, both artists from a small town. They each had to take on part-time jobs after high school to supplement what little they could earn selling art. Yet somehow Denise always had money. She bought a house and a car on her own. She always had spending money. And then she quit her part-time job to focus on art and tarot readings.”

  “Did Poppy have any idea where Denise got the money? Supposedly people would come to her house at all hours to . . . buy things.”

  “Poppy was suspicious. She thought Denise might be cheating her customers. You know, charging lots of money for bogus psychic work.”

  “It seems like there are other ways to make illicit money, especially in a small town.”

  “At one point, Poppy asked Denise for a money spell. She figured if it worked for Denise, it might work for her. Of course, it didn’t. That only made Poppy more bitter.”

  “So, that’s why she called her a fraud that day in front of Denise’s house.”

  “I guess. Poppy’s still pretty broken up over the whole thing. She said the last time she saw Denise, they’d fought pretty hard. I gathered Poppy made some nasty accusations, and Denise said she never wanted to see her again.”

  The words from Denise’s banishing spell surfaced in my mind: Disappear from my life . . . The connection is severed. Could she have been trying to exile her own best friend?

  “So, Poppy was pretty upset, huh?”

  “Yeah. What’s even worse is that Poppy went to Denise’s house to try to patch things up the morning Denise was killed. When Denise didn’t answer the door, Poppy thought Denise was ignoring her. Now she wonders if she could have saved Denise, you know, if she wouldn’t have just walked away.”

  “Wow. What an awful thought to carry around.”

  “Yeah. I tried to comfort her, poor thing.”

  I could see it now. Crocodile tears and a sympathetic hug from a tall, dark, and sexy photographer. I finished off my whiskey. Considering my interesting night, I had no right to complain.

  Besides, Wes and I trusted each other—even if it seemed that trust was increasingly put to the test.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I really didn’t want to go into work on Wednesday morning. I still felt depleted from the long night in Fynn Hollow, and the even later night chilling out with Wes. Plus, I still hadn’t received an apology call from Neal Jameson. I was starting to fear he would really follow through on his threat to sue me for malpractice.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t play hooky today—I had an appointment with Carol Peters. I needed her to review and sign the affidavit I would file along with our motion to dismiss the custody challenge. After working on her case for the past week, I felt pretty confident about our odds of prevailing. When she came in to sign the papers, I tried to reassure her, but she was still nervous. She fidgeted in the chair across from my desk, swinging her crossed foot and tugging at the cuffs on her waitress uniform.

  “You don’t know my ex,” she said. “He’s been very vindictive lately. Oh, and get this! Somehow he found out I took the kids to Wicca-Fest last summer and that I planned to take them to the Beltane Festival this weekend.”

  “He found out both of those things? How?”

  “That’s a good question. I tried to play it cool and told him these events weren’t secret. I may have insinuated I thought he’d already known about the trip last summer—and he seemed a little unsure himself. But now he refuses to switch weekends with me, so the kids can’t go to the Beltane Festival. I probably won’t go now either. I’d feel bad being there without them.”

  “I’m sorry, Carol. Do you want me to add something in our motion about your right to take the children to Pagan events?”

  “No, let’s not push our luck. My priority right now is to maintain custody.”

  “Understood.”

  After she signed the papers and left, I sat at my desk and stared out the window. The only thing to see was the brick wall on the other side of the alley, but my thoughts were turned inward. My mind flickered to the scene in the lookout tower the night before. I was a little disappointed I didn’t have a vision, as I sometimes did when meditating or seeking magical guidance. Perhaps I was too uncomfortable. From what I could tell, Erik had seen something. He didn’t tell me what it was, but I knew he was troubled. I wondered if it really was Denise’s spirit causing the unsteady energy in that cabin. If so, she was not only a restless spirit, she was also an angry one.

  I picked up my phone and shot off a text to Farrah: How was your date? I have a lot to share. Call when you can.

  I waited a minute, expecting her to respond. When she didn’t, I set my phone down an
d glanced at the custody papers on my desk. I still felt a nagging sense I was missing something important. Something more than the unsolved murder.

  I stood up and walked in a loop around my small office as my mind churned. It was what Carol had told me—that was what bothered me. How did her ex-husband happen to find out about two separate things Carol had shared with me just the week before? One of the things hadn’t even happened yet—it was only her intention to take the children to the Beltane Festival. Of course, she could have told others besides me. But what a coincidence that this was my second client to have a secret revealed after telling it to me.

  For a split second, the word curse popped into my mind again. I dismissed it at once. This didn’t feel like a curse. If anything, it felt more sinister.

  As I circled my office once more, I found myself face-to-face with the small fairy figurine I’d set on my shelf the other day. Perched on her log with her delicate gossamer wings and mischievous, twinkling eyes, she added a touch of lighthearted joyfulness to the room. I still didn’t know who had sent her to me.

  All of a sudden, I was seized with a dreadful suspicion. I drew a sharp breath, which caught in my throat like a gag. I snatched up the figurine. As I held it under my desk lamp, I grabbed a nail file and went to work prying open the fairy’s log—with particular focus on a carved knot in the front. Before long, I found the thing I hardly dared believe I would actually find: a tiny camera, shiny and spherical, like a robot’s eye. For days, this thing had been pointing at me! It had been situated behind the knot in the fairy’s log—which I had conveniently placed right across from my desk, where it could record me and all my client meetings. The thought made my blood boil.

  Who was watching me?

  Shaking with fury and fear, I scanned my office for the heaviest thing I could find. If I’d had a hammer, I would have used it. My eyes fell upon the plants behind my desk. Without a second thought, I tossed the camera on the carpeted floor, lifted the heaviest ceramic planter, and brought it down upon the device with all my might. It took only a couple tries before the camera was smashed to bits. Glass, plastic, and tiny wires mingled with dirt and leaves on the carpet. I stamped it with my feet for good measure.